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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27572353">Reconnections</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/FabricatedNecromancer/pseuds/FabricatedNecromancer'>FabricatedNecromancer</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Therapy With Dr Albert Krueger, 文森: G4人偶事件 | Vincent: Phantom of the G4 (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, M/M, Reflection, although it's not written to be shippy, as is vincent tbh, at least this fic isn't really written to be shippy ;), between canon events, can be seen as shippy ig, mostly just albert with his thoughts, taylor's only briefly in this</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 03:48:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,325</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27572353</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/FabricatedNecromancer/pseuds/FabricatedNecromancer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Arch-enemies? Why’s that?”</p><p>“No specific reason. Probably because we looked similar and were both very competent people.”</p><p>In which a therapy session leads to reflection, and reflection leads to a phone call.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Albert Krueger &amp; Vincent Edgeworth</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>61</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Reconnections</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Before I let you go, can I have one last request?”</p><p>They paused, hesitation clear as day. “Sure. What is it?”</p><p>“Would you mind filling out this post-therapy…”</p><p>Now it was his turn to pause, if only for a second, if only for a moment even briefer than that as a whole trainwreck of thoughts sped through his head.</p><p>“Forget about it,” he finished, his composure never breaking in the slightest, and he smiled, politely, respectfully. “Goodbye, Taylor.”</p><p>His patient met his piercing gaze with an equally unyielding stare, stoic as ever as if they had not reacted as any normal individual would to the… well, mildly unorthodox methods he conducted as a therapist. It was admirable. It really was. Not many people would have taken such things in stride so quickly. He even said so himself. Not out loud, God no, but he’d be lying if he said his interest wasn’t piqued at this point. How long had it been since someone had challenged him like so?</p><p>“I hope we can stay in touch.” And he did. They had quite pleasantly surprised him today, and he’d be loath to lose someone so entertaining not two hours after meeting them. So he hoped they could talk again soon.</p><p>He breathed a light laugh as they disappeared from the room, confusion gracing their face as they awoke back in their own home. That always did catch patients off guard, the whole shifting reality thing. Perhaps he had just gotten used to it by now. It wouldn’t be a surprise. </p><p>But, for now, Doctor Albert Gerald Krueger was left alone in room 1015.</p><p>It was quiet, the silence only periodically broken by a distant clock somewhere and the faint buzzing of his followers phasing in and out of existence at his sides. He had turned off the music the second that Taylor had taken their leave, and the emptiness that that brought was almost jarring. Almost. With a deep sigh, he shifted slightly to rest his chin atop his linked fingers, eyes closing contentedly.</p><p>
  <em>Rebellious, full of energy, no fear in your heart.</em>
</p><p>He allowed himself a knowing smirk, amusement tugging at the corner of his lips. Yes, it had been a long time since he met someone like them, hadn’t it? A rare type indeed. All too rare and all too intriguing to ignore. Perhaps he had been too focused on finding that certain sort of person for his following, for the sanctity of G2 and his own blindingly bright goals, that he’d come to accept the ever prevalent mediocrity in the world around him. Surely as a psychologist he knew that people were never as simple as that.</p><p>But that didn’t mean he didn’t relish in the fact that so many of them could be so very predictable.</p><p>Yet he couldn’t forget that, every so often, he could also be pleasantly surprised. Young Taylor Lee had reminded him of that today, reminded him of…</p><p>He opened his eyes again, staring at nothing in particular as he reminisced about his long lost enemy. They hadn’t talked in ages. Years. Far too long for his liking, and Taylor was right, in the end. He did miss those he met in G4, missed the chaos that being a student vying for success brought him. It was all so distant now, just a far off memory in a dream many wanted to forget. Pity. There were some good times back then.</p><p>In just a few sharp movements, without so much as disturbing a hair on his head, he pulled that one Rorschach card out, the desk clattering noisily as he opened and closed the drawer. The macabrely shaped inkblot stared back at him, black splotches seeming all that darker by the hot pink that framed it. He flipped the card over in his hand, sidelong glance narrowing as the familiar face greeted him. Arch-enemy. They never liked each other from the moment they set eyes on one another. Some might have said it was hate at first sight. They could have been friends, maybe, just maybe. If things had been different, if they weren't the people that they were, headstrong and both frightfully ambitious, maybe they could have been friends. Their potential to be great was immeasurable; just imagine if they didn’t resent each other so. Just imagine.</p><p>Well, he had his own business now, and, if rumours were to be believed, his dearest Vincent Edgeworth was Head of the Legal Department over in Myers Corp. He never did keep up too much with the cross-district news, he must have missed the odd thing here and there in his busy days. Hopefully the other man was doing well. How wonderful it was to hear that Vincent was finally doing something with that clever head of his, but oh, did Albert miss the times where he was the target, where he was the bar to reach and surpass. He missed the rivalry they had, all fiery determination and icy delight that frequently clashed into a whirlwind, a storm that couldn’t be stopped.</p><p>
  <em>Why don’t you give them a call sometime?</em>
</p><p>Would it be selfish of him to reignite that passion? The last time they almost interacted was from the very unexpected one-star review popping up on his website (to which he did get a good laugh; that comment had Vincent written all over it even without the portrait that accompanied it). He had been called selfish on multiple occasions, funnily enough all by the one person he was debating about reaching out to again, so perhaps there was some truth in those accusations. Everyone was selfish to some extent, though. He was no different.</p><p>His other hand reached for the phone before his mind could catch up, and he was already punching in the number without so much as a second thought. Well, who was he to hesitate when action was taken? Somewhere within the abyss of his chest, his heart fluttered at the mere thought of hearing the other’s voice again. He was slightly upset with himself for having forgotten precisely what their parting words were when they graduated, but another part of him, the arrogant, confident part, only recalled sharp tongues and sharper glares, looks that said <em>‘This isn’t over’</em> and held unspoken vows, silent promises of impending retribution. It had been a long time coming, as far as he cared.</p><p>The phone rang rhythmically as he waited, patient as he could be despite his excitement. He kept hold of the sketch. He could very well be an artist, now that he thought about it. There was some degree of talent there if he could say so himself.</p><p>
  <em>Come on, pick up, Vincent.</em>
</p><p>The edges of the card fizzled like static, then it began fracturing, perfect squares splintering off from where he gripped it and jumping from the main body as if it was something unstable. Time ticked by agonisingly slowly. He was just about ready to hang up when—</p><p>
  <em>Click.</em>
</p><p>A beat.</p><p>“Hello?”</p><p>There. <em>There</em> was that voice he longed to hear again. Calm and collected, courteous but damn near unbearably cold.</p><p>The card shattered into a blizzard of rectangular colours and fragments, dissipating into the air as he clenched his hand into a fist. Who needed a sketch when he had the real deal right on the other end of this call? A rolling thunder echoed in his chest, and he leaned forwards on his desk, a look of pure entertainment lighting up his entirety.</p><p>He could see it clear as day, even though he hadn’t said a word yet; he’d be able to hear the other man tense up, years worth of hatred and competitiveness bubbling up after being dormant for so long, and he only grinned to himself. He’d be the last person expected to call.</p><p>Albert let the silence hang for a moment more.</p><p>And then, he spoke:</p><p>“It’s been a while, Vincent.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I don't know how to tag people in notes but Sincerely_unidentified and JCMorrigan are the reason I wrote this because I can and will die for less than three hours of content.</p><p>Edit: I did not sleep to write this and it's 7 am so there are going to be mistakes and if it doesn't make sense... I apologise.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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